The Specimen
by Ch4rl13Sm1th
Summary: A clandestine, underbudgeted, under staffed department headed by Ophelia Nuñez has captured a polymorph changeling and has undergone the task of conducting experiments to detect others that may lurk among government ranking humans.


They reeled with laughter.

The victim struggled to breathe. In their enthusiasm, his oppressors neglected to give him enough slack to even inhale. He was cold. He wanted to cover his nudity, or rather the borrowed nudity, but his limbs were bound so that he was spread eagle against the cement wall. The world spun when a fist found his cheek. His skin was red where flesh met flesh. "Now you're gonna take 185's shape. I know you only need to study him for 60 seconds. You've seen plenty of him to do it, haven't you?"

Agent 185 shuffled about nervously, and not out of empathy. "We don't need to do that. I'm sure we could have it watch a movie and take that one chick's shape-"

"Chicks later," agent 145 interrupted. "It's done everyone else, now it's gonna do you, too. Ain't ya, freak?"

The nude image of agent 132 winced. The red mark on his face became darker in response to another punch. Blood and drool dribbled from his mouth. His rope restraints were loosened slightly so he hung his head to focus. Energy cackled over his skin and he wheezed. Agent 185 was shorter than 132 and the doppelganger had to stand on his toes since the rope cinched his throat.

The agents roared at the display. "Look at the little acorn in the grass," 145 howled. "Aren't you ashamed," he asked 185. "Go on. Show us how ashamed you are of your tiny wank."

Agent 185 glared at him, but the other three agents were eager to see the display and could have overpowered him. He looked at his own image and winced. This would be the true definition of empathy. Agent 185 rammed a knee between the legs of his impersonator and shuddered at the sound of his own outcry. The viewers doubled over in laughter. 185 held a hand over his gaping mouth, unable to disguise his horror. One of the other agents finally caught his breath and tried to reason with the others.

"The department head wants his nuts fully functioning-"

"What, is she thirsty for role-play? Does the bitch want an heir to replace the prime minister?" 145 laughed at his own joke again. "Freak, turn into 167."

The specimen hurriedly obeyed. "Look," agent 145 pointed out. "No blemishes, just like the good Lord says." He moved around the genitals to demonstrate. The specimen winced and held his breath.

"Fuckin' idiot." Agent 167 took a metal collar sheathed in leather from the table and clasped it around the specimen's neck. Once locked, he unfastened the leather and let the iron touch the creature's flesh and leapt back. The entire exterior of the creature could not be perceived by unaided human eyes due to the light generated during transformation. Electric energy sizzled over his skin. When the sparking ceased, the ropes that restrained it dropped limply from the wall in sheds. The large creature braced itself on all fours and huffed from exertion. Blood pooled on the cement; strands of congealed red saliva dripped from his oversized, pointed teeth. His body was covered in uneven patches of fur that revealed purple bruises across his otherwise blue, dense skin. Around his neck the fur had been rubbed off from repeated rough handling of the collar. Agent 167 gestured to various regions across the monster's body. "See, here's where you socked him, you kicked him 'ere, and here's from that trident you wanted to test out earlier-"

"Fucking shut it," 145 bellowed. "We all had our fun, didn't we boys?"

•••

He licked his wounds clean to keep out debris as his dense skin visibly healed. A clatter put him on edge and he arched his back and snarled.

A young woman gasped at his raised fur and bared teeth from the other side of the bars. He continued to uphold his intimidating display, but it surprised him to see a creature so frail in this dungeon. He realized that it was the sound of a mop handle that fell over that had triggered him. Her eyes darted about and she peered around the displays. Her hands slipped into her apron and the crinkle of foil made his ears twitch involuntarily. He growled softly when she stretched a hand through the bars. Her hand shook- she was clearly afraid of him- and she slid the treat across the iron floor of the cage.

He considered it in his peripheral, his eyes not leaving hers. Slowly he leaned forward and took the treat in his teeth. He ate the entire thing, including the wrapper, eyes still locked on hers. He hoped it was poisoned.

She finally inhaled as though she'd forgotten to breathe. Her head whipped around as she imagined a sound. She glanced back repeatedly at him as she dragged behind her the mop bucket.

•••

He had long forgotten what deep sleep felt like. A new scent was introduced to his nostrils and he raised his head. It was the maid from before. She raised a hand tentatively in greeting. He didn't move. She took a large bundle of fabric and forced it through the bars. He continued to stare as she fumbled with the blanket. She spread it as far as she could manage and then took a step away from the cage. She watched him expectantly.

He rose suddenly and leapt at the bars that separated them. His lips curled to display his gums, teeth, and tusks as he roared, not unlike a starved lion. Though she flinched, she did not run. His cold eyes calculated her, studied her. Warily she reached a hand through the bars and touched the top of his head. Instantly his snarl ceased and he closed his mouth. She combed her fingers through his fur gingerly.

He considered the fabric beneath him and the expression on her face. Her face was illuminated as white lightning danced across his skin. She covered her mouth with her hand and her eyes watered involuntarily as she beheld her own naked body on the other side of the bars. He considered her reaction and took on a new appearance. She saw a young man not much older than herself. His shaggy bangs framed the sad eyes that had once been her own. She reached a hand out toward him, expectantly. His eyes dashed between her hand and her face. He considered, and raised his own towards hers. A short distance from touching her skin and he changed his mind. He flashed into his default shape and turned his back to her as he lay on the blanket. She pressed her body against the bars and found that she could still reach his coat. She pet the little bit of fur she could reach. After some time she gasped at a strange sound he made. She considered for a long time before she decided that he was purring and not snoring.

•••

He took his time to wake up. For once he wasn't chilled to the bone. He sniffed the air and suddenly recalled the blanket. There was another smell. A human female, but not the same one. There were human males present also, and at the realization he quickly got on all fours. In the gloom he made out more easily than they could the agents charged with overseeing him, a set of guards, and the woman they escorted. He studied her brown eyes. They reminded him of the frightened girl, but they were calculating. By the smell of fear on the men and the way agent 145 talked too much, he concluded that this was the department head.

The cage was opened. They watched him expectantly. Warily he stood on his hind legs and stepped out. His eyes continued to study the woman, yet he observed in his peripheral the way 145 tried to determine who provided the blanket. With a nod the woman conducted her escort to don the specimen with the blanket. He struggled not to flinch.

"Can you make yourself decent, TR01?" He bent his head to focus and lightning traversed his fur, skin, and even the fabric that draped his shoulders. The blue eyed boy with disheveled bangs stood on the cold cement floor in grey boxers and a plain white t-shirt. "This way," she finally instructed.

•••

"Our purpose is to determine how to detect and remove these biological weapons from political positions for the safety of humanity," Madame Ophelia explained to the director.

"No need to be so stiff, Nuñez," the man waved casually. He slouched in his seat at the head of the mahogany table laden with food piled high on metal platters. The settings sparkled with crystal glasses and elaborate silverware. "This is a brunch, not a benchmark. Now, tell me if this naïve old man understands these basics correctly: he is a living, breathing, thinking creature. Is that so?"

"Yes director," the department head answered opposite the table from him.

"Does he talk?" He watched the quiet boy adorned in a navy suit as he carefully cut at the eggs Benedict.

"He understands English, but no, he doesn't speak. We suspect that his vital organs maintain some semblance of their original nature though his exterior-"

"Speaking of exteriors, you are certain it's a he?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"He shapeshifts. Masculinity may be his preference, but is it his default?"

Madame Ophelia inhaled in such a way as to make a request. "With an x-ray of a more appropriate-"

"Man's greatest blessing is to be surrounded by beautiful women. Would you humor me, boy?"

The boy silently glanced between the director, the brown eyed girl opposite him referred to as Madame Ophelia's daughter, and Madame Ophelia herself. The daughter appeared to be around his age, and very deliberately had avoided looking at him throughout the entire brunch. Instead she looked at the food on her plate with great interest. Instinctively, however, her gaze was torn from her meal at the cackle of energy. Across the table gazed back her own eyes, sans the wire framed lenses. The director chuckled. "I dare say he made a fine choice. Or is it now she?"

Madame Ophelia again inhaled as though in preparation. "If our equipment received the necessary upgrades, we could determine more than just his sex, but also how thorough his transformations are-"

"There is no need for that," he interrupted once more. "All that's required is a clandestine method with which to detect an impersonator." He frowned. "Not a fan of glasses?"

"It's so that we may distinguish him. He seems to be able to choose variables for his appearance to some degree."

The specimen nodded in agreement, though his eyes remained focused on the girl. Few artifacts could not be copied, and she wore one.

•••

"That penny pinching bastard…" Madame Ophelia paced heavily.

"Perhaps we can still manage to fulfill the objective while avoiding intrusive measures." It was the first time the specimen heard the daughter speak.

"We need something more solid than an iron cage and shackles to discover a changeling."

"If the problem is utilizing a humane method to expose one, shouldn't it be strictly humane methods that we practice on him?" He memorized the lilt of her voice and considered her word choice from where he sat beside her. They were given a private room to wait on the decision of the director, the escorts attending from outside the chamber.

"He's not human," Ophelia justified. "We're afforded some mercies." She stopped pacing and considered the time. She directed her attention then to the specimen and adjusted his hair and shirt collar. He blinked hard at her touch. "If you don't want to end up splayed open on an operating table, I'm going to need you to impress the director so we can afford you a nice x-ray. Nod if you understand." He nodded vigorously. "Very good. I'm going to powder my nose," she directed to her daughter.

"Yes, mom." The girl watched her leave and turned at the sound of electricity cackling. She forced a hand over her mouth to mute her scream. Beside her was the maid. "Stop that this instant!" Obediently he took on his preferred form of the young boy. He smirked at her and touched a finger to his nose to reference the glasses. She pointed a finger and muttered fiercely. "If you want out of that hell hole, you will never compromise my identity."

His hand suddenly reached for hers and she gasped in surprise. His eyes widened and lips parted as though he'd discovered something. He released his grip on her, but his expression didn't change. She glanced at the doorway as she took a compact mirror from her purse and opened it for him to see. In it was an astrolabe, a trademark that identified an ally of the trolls. It was not a guarantee that such an individual was an ally of changelings as well, but it meant that they were part of the few that knew about them outside of the military. "I've agreed to help you. When the time is right, we'll escape." She put away the gadget and adjusted the frame on her nose with a fingertip. The silvered spectacles were payment from the changelings, and a tool. Though the cold in his eyes melted, he disguised his hope when Ophelia returned.

•••

They exchanged their farewells. The director considered for a moment before he held a hand out to the specimen. TR01 took his hand and in the same instant his image. The director leapt back in alarm and the agents surrounding him withdrew their guns and pointed their weapons at the impersonator. The director roared with laughter. "You win, Ophelia," he continued to laugh. "Whatever toys you want, you can have them."

•••

He wasn't certain how long he'd been swallowed in darkness this time. It didn't matter, there were no windows, and the humans would initiate the next round of experiments once he'd healed adequately.

Something was off this time. There was an ache across his body as if every inch of it had recently regenerated. There were sharp, unpleasant smells that were vaguely familiar. Slowly he adjusted his body so blood could return to his right arm that fell asleep under his weight.

He roared. With horror he glanced down and discovered a still open wound that scabbed onto the iron floor, the hair around it singed. Slowly he pried the injured limb from the cage base and his attention was drawn to his left shin. It too had an open sore, but it smelled wrong. It wasn't sharp like smoke, but rather putrid like rapid decay. It should have healed by now. He had to clean it so it could heal properly. Slowly, painfully, he tried to curl himself in such a position to take the weight off his arm and reach the leg with his tongue. He howled- the exposed flesh was too tender to touch and the fluid burned his mouth. His howl was drawn out and eventually succumbed to whimpering.

There was a whimper that wasn't his own. He barely lifted his head to see the daughter of the department head disguised as a maid. She wiped at her steady stream of tears as she fumbled to return the blanket through the bars. With great effort he rolled onto the fabric. The smell of fresh laundry cleansed his palate and he detected stomach acid. The girl rolled up a towel and held it to his face. He opened his mouth and let her place the bundle between his teeth. Besides the faded scent of her perfume he determined that the lingering odor of vomit was from her, though she'd tried to clean it.

Threads tore as he clamped down on the towel. The world went dim as the pain overloaded his senses. Though his eyes may have been open, he didn't come to until long after his wounds were bandaged and the mop water went cold.

Please feel better. I don't know what more I can do. How could they did this to you? When will the madness end? I don't know what more I can do. Can we escape in time? What if you're not strong enough? I can't carry you, I'm not strong enough.

He regained enough lucidity to angle his head to see her better. Her hands moved from his shoulder to stroke the fur around his face.

Poor baby. Why are they so cruel to you? When is the last time anyone expressed affection to you?

He reached for her hand and pressed it against his face. He savored her touch and smiled softly at her thoughts. He hadn't heard kindness in anyone's mind in all the time he'd been here. It was a taste that reminded him that he hungered. Slowly he propped himself on an elbow. As long as she touched his skin, his pain was doubled. There was no truer empathy than what she felt, and he didn't need to take her shape for her to feel it.

His transformation was excruciating and slow. She grit her teeth at the static that pricked her hand. The blue eyed boy grimaced as he sat up and fumbled with the blanket to warm his legs. The bandages were transmuted to guard the injuries that remained. When he opened his eyes, it was to watch her hungrily. Her hand remained pressed tenderly against his cheek, but her thoughts transformed from charged ideas to raw emotion and no longer formulated syllables. His body trembled with effort and he slouched to lean into her hand which pressed against the iron bar to guard his skin from contact with the metal.

His clear eyes communicated as effectively as her thoughts. With her free hand she combed back his hair. His breathing was heavy and tranquil in response and it crossed her mind that he would have purred in his other form. She leaned closer to him and pressed against the iron bars, her arms twisted uncomfortably to caress him.

They don't need an x-ray. I know that your transformation is complete. I know when you are like this, you are utterly human. You feel like a human. You want to be loved like a human.

He parted his lips and brushed his nose against hers, against her cheek, hopeful. In an instant he felt the wet of her mouth as she closed the distance, the gentle, considerate pressure as her lips felt out his.

I want this. I want this.

He couldn't tell her thoughts from his anymore. He couldn't tell anymore if he moved his tongue the way he did because he wanted to or she wanted him to. He became engrossed in desire and tilted his head to reach further, deeper.

His arm wobbled and skin grazed iron. His involuntary transformation was sudden and he roared in pain and fell back into a heap as limp as the fabric that tangled around him. His sorrow was heavy, and he realized it was reciprocated by the girl. He couldn't tell if he clung to her or she to him.

The beast groaned. Electricity danced across his skin. "Don't," she pleaded. "You're too weak-"

The boy panted heavily. He blinked hard and his body trembled. His eyes strained to focus on her.

"What's your name."

She whispered her shock. "I thought you were mute!" but her thoughts answered him.

"What a beautiful name," he exhaled. The world grew dim.

•••

"Ain't you ever seen a movie?" The specimen saw red and yellow behind his eyes and his thoughts faltered at the pain. It took forever after 145 removed his grip from TR01's bandaged arm for him to remember how to breathe. The agent went through a string of random words and names, and when the pain dulled enough the specimen realized he was naming female actresses. The moment he could think clearly enough to determine this, his head rattled between a fist and the cement wall he was strung up against. The intrusive thoughts of self hatred and need for dominance made him nauseous every time skin contact was made. "What a fuckin' shame! The big screen ain't enough, huh? You gotta see them in the flesh?" The agent kicked the bandaged shin. The boy howled, and only then could he realize he was gagged. "You ain't seen a pretty piece of ass? Or don't you like women?" The agent got close enough for TR01 to feel his hot breath as he muttered in the specimen's ear. "C'mon. You saw the department head's daughter. Was she hot? She's gotta be, the boss won't let us near the bitch. No one knows what she looks like. You ate with the slut. What's she look like?"

His injured arm and leg were squeezed and his muscles gave out with a moan. The rope around his throat and wrists stopped the blood and his hands went cold. The familiar suffocation muted his senses. All sound faded except for the struggling beat of his heart and eardrums and the single syllable he'd never heard uttered out loud.

Claire.

In the darkest moment he held onto the lightest thing he'd ever felt. It made the darkness that much darker to think he'd never see her face again. He grasped onto the details in his mind, though his grip on consciousness flickered. Her freckles around her nose. Her lashes that stuck from her tears. The softness of her lips on his. Her slender, loving hands.

The darkness let up. Instinctively he stood on his toes to slacken the rope around his throat. His hearing registered a low, drawn out whistle. His heart sank with dread as he realize it was her toes he stood on, her neck that was cinched by the rope, her staggered breathing coming from him. The bandages were gone in her borrowed form. He moaned his regret and her voice channeled his pain- his desire betrayed his will, and in turn he had betrayed her. Agent 145 licked his lips and reached a hand into his pants. TR01 mustered the little energy left in him and writhed in his bonds, but his head became cold and a grid of lights crossed his vision as though he'd pass out, and agent 145's moan echoed somewhere far away.

His vision returned in a blur. A hand tapped his cheek.

"We have to go. Now." She held the mop like a combat staff. She went to the console and slammed at a sequence of buttons. The ropes released and he crumpled to the floor. He forced himself into the form of the boy and she draped the blanket over him. She noticed the bandages. "This is your form, isn't it? That's why your injuries don't go away when you're like this." He nodded. "I hate to ask this of you, but I don't know what to do. I thought we'd have more time. Can you transform? You can take my form, they never bother with the maid-"

He shook his head. His vision wavered like a flame that threatened to extinguish. "Then I have something else to ask of you." He blinked away the darkness. He zoned out until a large trash can was wheeled in front of him. "Can you get in?" He cringed at the prospect and noticed the body of agent 145 sprawled on the floor. "He might wake up soon, we have to hurry." While he scrambled into the trash can, she hurried to the adjacent operating room and rummaged through drawers and cabinets and gathered vials and packages. She stashed her loot alongside the boy and piled bags of trash to disguise her cargo.

His equilibrium was already off kilter. The sway of his transportation made it impossible for him to know which way they were going. Despite the clicks of the glass vials and the crinkling of the plastic bags, he heard voices and felt his heart in his throat. Her human ears picked up on the sound later and the trashcan was wheeled about sharply. More voices, this time raised. A woman's voice- the department head? Instructing the escorts to find him, don't let him escape. It's a hard feat, but don't kill him. Either of the beast's desires would be denied him.

Finally the decoys were taken out of the vessel, and he smelled rot and decay, but also outside, mud and pollen and mold and moss. "We're almost there," she assured. The loading/ unloading dock was too risky to escape through, it was only a checkpoint. She helped him out of the trash can and pulled him along to an air duct.

"Your mother is wrong." She whipped around to face him, surprised to hear his voice. "The director wanted to plant his own changeling. When I took his form, he realized it was too risky. He has control over some humans and wants to use them to start a cou and frame one of the leaders as a changeling."

"How do you know this?"

He looked away. "He shook my hand." He tightened the blanket around himself. "I read his thoughts."

"I see why you were mute. He would have silenced you if he knew. We have to get you out of here."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Reading your mind."

"Why? I'm not ashamed." She removed the air duct and pulled him along, the bag of stolen goods slung over her shoulder. Knowing now that she could communicate silently through touch, she told him stories through thoughts, repeating over and over the instructions to the train station from the facility. He focused on memorizing the directions.

They freed themselves from the air duct and in a nearby chamber found a vertical grate for the large pipes that carried away the liquid waste. She considered his bare feet regretfully and tried to assure herself that his regenerating abilities would help him survive whatever toxins were in stagnant pools in the tunnel. He felt her thoughts review the first aid supplies in the bag she deposited between the bars that could treat him if he contracted something. Her flow of thoughts were muted to him as she adjusted the blanket around his body to prevent his skin from touching the iron bars. She supported his weight and helped him through slowly, cautiously, so that a forced transformation wouldn't crush him in the iron vice. Once he was through, he took her hand to help her also, but his eyes grew wide.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Goodbye.

She forced his hand against the bar and he roared at her betrayal. Being forced into his beastly form he could not pass back through to be on her side, nor could he verbally plead with her. He pulled at her arms and clothes to join him. "You're free! Go, you know the way-"

Not without you. You're irreplaceable.

But she wasn't a changeling, she couldn't read his thoughts. A door slammed open to the room and she desperately ushered him. She cried out at the sound of a gun loading.

"... Claire?"

She spun at her name, at the voice. Madame Ophelia held a gun aimed at the specimen. "You're with the Order?" Her intense brown eyes flitted between her traitorous daughter and her precious specimen. "You would turn on your own kind?"

"I will defend them. They're sapient. They're sentient. They need our protection."

"Move aside, Claire."

"No!" Though TR01 still pulled at her, she spread her arms to obstruct the path between him and the gun.

"He's dangerous, Claire. Move aside. I won't hurt him."

It's a tranquilizer. If he doesn't get away now, he never will.

How long would I be out?

I wonder if the dose will kill me.

He roared fearfully. Ophelia steadied the gun. "Humans are worse," Claire insisted. "We're only afraid because we know what we're capable of, and we're afraid that they're just as capable."

Flashes of memories invaded his mind as he gripped her. He saw himself suffocated, a muzzle placed over him that prevented his breathing during the experiment and an iron collar that chafed his fur. Scientists called out measurements and announced times and the names of the various materials that comprised the blades they used to slit his skin.

No marked difference with silver? Interesting, completely unlike a lycanthrope.

Healing time has increased uniformly. The specimen is losing energy. Let's give him a dose, that should buy us another half hour.

They used poisons, venoms, stones, blades of obsidian, blades of malachite, blades laced with lead. They were successful with acid. They were desperate with fire. She watched, powerless to stop it, and hid to throw up.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Ophelia kept the gun trained on him as she directed her question to Claire. He felt her resolve as he kept his grasp on her through the bars. Ophelia lowered the gun.

Claire seized the opportunity and forced her way through the bars. She grabbed the bag and allowed herself to be pulled along by TR01.

I'll never see her again.

•••

The moon betrayed the pockets between the clouds, but it's light did not reach the forest floor where the beast sprawled out on the blanket. Her thoughts were distant and analytical. He sensed she was still in shock over what had happened. She busied herself with cleaning his wounds and cursed the darkness bitterly. He took her hands and guided them. He wasn't well enough to bandage himself, but he could see better in the dark and didn't want to be a burden to her.

From the folds of her clothing she took snacks of fruit leathers and granola. He ate the contents, as well as the packaging. "Rest now," she instructed. "We have a busy day ahead of us." She reviewed plans and directions, schedules and allies, maps and documents, as she stroked the fur around his face. He took her hand and gently pulled her toward him. She reclined beside him and allowed him to pull her against him. He tugged the rest of the blanket over her.

Despite her fear of the uncertain, he sensed her peace as she savored the gentle breeze of the forest that made his fur tickle her nose. He watched the undulating glow of the moon highlight the curve of her cheek and the shadow of her lashes.


End file.
